


Let It Go

by allatingle



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 14:44:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6119737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allatingle/pseuds/allatingle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's work to be done. But there are also little faces to be kissed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let It Go

_"Don't let them in, don't let them see_  
  
_Be the good girl you always have to be_  
  
_Conceal, don’t feel, don' let them know_  
  
_Well, now they know!_  
  
_Let it go, let it go_  
  
_Can't hold it back anymore..."_

Kurt sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He has work to do. He needs to finish the final designs for the spring show and cull the list of potential interns for Ania’s review before he's off for an extended Christmas holiday. Fifteen blessed days. With a husband who, if he recalls correctly, is very handsome and great in bed and two beautiful daughters who he could swear were taller this morning than when they went to bed last night.

All he needs to do is finish up the damn designs. Just a few more pencil strokes really, if he he could just concentrate. If he could have five consecutive minutes that were not filled with–

 _"Let it go, let it go!_  
  
_Turn away and slam the door!"_

The goddamn soundtrack of Frozen.

If someone had told 16 year old Kurt that he would one day be sitting in his condo in Tribeca cursing Idina Menzel, he would have severed their carotid with the brutality of his glare.

And yet, here he is. Cursing Idina and Disney and everyone and everything even remotely involved with the production of that movie, because his darling girls, six year old Ava and four year old Emersyn, were obsessed.

The dvd was on repeat, their letters to Santa consisted of every Frozen toy, book and accessory in existence and the worst part–

_"The cold never bothered me anyway!"_

They sang that damn song constantly. Con. Stant. Ly. Ava sang it in her sleep. They had video to prove it.

It was cute at first. Absolutely adorable. Kurt recorded them and emailed it to his Dad and Carole who had responded by gushing appropriately at how talented and brilliant and indeed adorable, his offspring were. That was three months ago. Adorable is no longer the word he uses to describe it. The string of words he uses now aren’t allowed to be spoken in their house anymore, because Ava is a parrot and will repeat those words at the least opportune moment. Like on Skype with Grandma A.

His dark thoughts of smashing the dvd with a hammer while laughing maniacally as his horrified children look on, are interrupted by the appearance of Emersyn. Bathed and ready for bed in her Olaf footie pajamas, all soft skin and dark curls and chubby cheeks that Kurt just has to snuggle and kiss when she climbs up into his lap.

“Whatcha doin’ Papa?”

“Just drawing pictures for work, baby girl.”

Emersyn sits up to examine the drawings for a moment before sinking back into Kurt’s embrace.

“Me and Ava were singing, did you hear?”

Kurt is certain the neighbors heard and hopes Blaine remembered to pick up the very expensive bottle of wine they plan to give them as a Christmas gift/bribe for their unending patience. “I did.”

“Frozen is my favorite.”

Kurt can’t help but smile down into her beautiful, guileless, hazel eyes. “Really?”

“Oh, yes, Papa.” She nods emphatically, curls bobbing everywhere.

Minus her duet partner, Ava appears a moment later. Her nightie has a reindeer on it and Kurt wonders how that happened without tears and hysteria until he notices that she’s also wearing long blue Elsa gloves and recognizes the deal that was struck.

“Emmie, you’re not supposed to bother Papa while he’s working,” she admonishes her sister and then climbs up onto Kurt’s other knee.

“We were singing, Papa,” she informs him.

Kurt buries his nose in longer, straighter hair in a lighter shade of brown, nuzzles against fair, freckled cheeks. “I heard.”

“That’s pretty,” she says, pointing at the sketch Kurt has been dithering with forever.

“You make pretty pictures, Papa.” Emersyn agrees around the thumb tucked into her mouth.

“Thank you my sweet darlings.” Kurt holds them closer and wonders, not for the first time, how it is possible to love such tiny beings so immensely.

"Hey, where my girls at?” Blaine appears in the doorway.

Kurt looks up to his husband, rumpled NYU t-shirt still damp from the inevitable splashing that goes on during bath time and a dishtowel slung over one shoulder. Stubble dusts his jaw and his curls are edging towards riotous. He’s barefoot and there’s a hole in the knee of his sweatpants. He is still the most handsome man that Kurt has ever seen.

“Girls, what are you doing in here? You’re not supposed to bother Papa when he’s working.”

“Told you!” Ava directs at Emersyn.

“It’s fine,” Kurt squeezes his daughters and kisses them each in turn. “They just came in to say hi.”

“And now they can say bye,” Blaine says, sweeping in and scooping Emersyn under his arm like a football. She squeals and Ava laughs as she wiggles off Kurt’s knee. Blaine bends and gives Kurt a quick kiss, stubble tickling his husband's chin, before he stretches an arm out in front of him and yells, “Hut one, Hut two!” And jogs out of the room with Emersyn as his giggling football and Ava dancing behind.

Kurt laughs as he watches them go. He listens to them pounding down the hall, Ava shouting random football phrases she’s picked up from watching with Daddy on Sundays and Grandpa Burt when he comes to visit. Back to the living room. Back to–  
  
_"The snow falls soft on the mountaintop..."_

And he is really going to write a strongly worded letter to Disney.

He sighs and looks down at his sketches. Dresses with tight bodices and flowing skirts, and spots a small smudgy fingerprint at the edge of a page. He glances around his beloved studio with it’s warm lighting and big windows and almost view of the Hudson. Blaine’s guitar is propped up next to the bolt of wine colored velvet he’d used to make the girls Christmas dresses. A sparkly tiara and wand peek out from underneath. His sanctuary suddenly feels empty, chilly without the warmth of his husband’s grin and his babies crowding his lap.  
  
He’s almost done, just a few more pencil strokes. If he puts his mind to it, it’s fifteen minutes, twenty at the most. In the living room, Blaine has joined the sing-a-long and they’re all gearing up for the chorus, voices rising in joyous abandon. He is certain that they’re all climbing onto the furniture in preparation and he knows exactly who is leading that charge.

Without another thought, Kurt drops his pencil and leaps out of his chair, bolting out of the room and down the hall. The sketches will still be there later, once the girls are tucked in, or perhaps later still once his gorgeous husband is sweaty and spent in their bed. But this moment, this moment of chubby cheeks and soft skin, disney princesses and sweet baby voices filling the air, this is fleeting. He makes it to the living room just in time, his heart soaring along with his voice.

_"Let it go!_

_Let it go!"_


End file.
